#Box boy

[ashintheairlikesnow]

🦷 for…literally anyone. Go crazy with this

CW: BBU, some mouth whumpiness although the whump is emotional, medical whump

"Okay, here we go. Now, I'm going to insert this into your mouth, and you're going to bite down, as evenly as you can, and hold it until I say. Got it?"

Oskar looks at the little plastic tray in Arvid's hand as though the spongy, grayish thing inside of it is something alive that might bite him at any second. "Why?"

"I want to make a mold of your teeth."

Oskar shifts rapidly backwards in the exam chair in Arvid's 'medical room', also known as the half of his basement space he doesn't sleep in. One wrist brushes against the open leather buckles that can be used to restrain patients and he flinches violently away from it, face going suddenly white except for two red spots in his cheeks. "But-"

Arvid closes his eyes, taking a breath. "Oskar. Just do it."

Oskar shakes his head, curling his knees up to his chest and sliding his arms around his legs. His mouth opens and closes a few times on a word that never seems to quite make its way out. "I-... I don't want to," He whispers, hiding the bottom half of his face behind his knees, only his dark eyes showing, staring, hurt, at Arvid. "I don't want to do that. Please, Arvid, I-I don't, I don't want to-"

"Oskar," Arvid says, keeping his voice calm only with difficulty. This is irritating. "

Oskar's eyes drop and he stares down at the stirrups that hang off the end on long metal poles, where patients can slide their feet and hold their legs open. If possible, he blanches even further, and Arvid fights down his annoyance at the delay. "I have Samael coming in in like half an hour for bloodwork, we need to get this done before she gets here."

Oskar curls himself up even more tightly, closing his eyes and giving his head one more weak shake. "Please," He whispers. "I don't want to."

"Oskar. It is just to get a teeth mold! This is completely normal!" He thinks. Actually, Arvid doesn't have much of a comparison for normal, but it's normal for the work he does, anyway. He has molds of the mouths of all of the archangels and most of the other employees of the organization, too. He has molds of his own teeth, damn it. "I'm tired of you wasting my time with this, so just... fucking do as I say. You're my pet, aren't you?"

Oskar's breaths are coming shallowly, and he doesn't open his eyes. "Yes," He whispers. "I am." One of his hands moves to touch the collar around his neck, as if reminding himself. "I, I am yours."

"Right. So just. So just do the thing, so we can get it done and I can go back to doing my actual job before Samael shows up and wonders why nothing's ready for her..." He trails off as he hears a strange noise, like a clicking, and tilts his head. His eyes trail downward, until he realizes... it's the chair rattling in place.

Oskar is shaking so hard the exam chair is shaking, too.

"... hey." Arvid looks down at the molding clay in the dental tray - it'll dry out and be more or less useless if this takes much longer - and then, with a sigh, he sets it back down on the little metal rolling table and reaches out, putting one hand on either side of Oskar's face. "Talk to me. What's wrong with this? The tray, the... the chair? Is that it?"

Oskar hesitates, then opens his eyes again, looking up at Arvid without raising his chin. "... both."

"Okay... uh. What the fuck is wrong with them?" The chair is... just a chair. Arvid had gotten it at an insanely low price some years back during a private estate sale he decided not to look too closely into - but Oskar is clearly terrified of the damn thing. He's not even restrained - Arvid only uses those when one of the archangels is violent or hallucinating.

"Clinic c-chair." Oskar's teeth click together from his trembling. His eyes are glimmering in the lights with tears that haven't fallen yet. "The, the mold for a-... a gag, I don't... I don't want to have a gag here, Arvid. I don't-... I don't want to-"

"What? It's-... it's not for a gag."

Oskar swallows hard, licking at his lips. "It's... not?"

"No... no. Jesus Christ, Oskar, it's for if you get hurt and lose a tooth or something, so we can get you a good screw-in tooth and shit. I was thinking the other day about how you've ended up going out on fieldwork with me twice, plus you've been climbing the tree in the yard, and just in case, we should have shit ready to go for your records. That's all."

Oskar glances sidelong at the little plastic tray, then back at him. His lips press into a thin line, the skin paling at the pressure, before he tries to talk again. "I don't... want anything in m-my mouth, Arvid. Please-... I, I can't. Please, please don't make me. Please."

Arvid inhales. He knows if he checks his phone that time is running out, Samael's going to walk in any fucking second. "Oskar. We are going to do this and we are going to do this now. Open your fucking mouth. I am ordering you, as your owner, to open your mouth."

The look of open, honest pain and fear on Oskar's face sends a twist of some strange unpleasant chill through Arvid's chest, but he at least slowly nods and - jaw trembling - opens his mouth wide for Arvid to slide in the tray, then bites gently down. Sounds come, unbidden, from his throat - muffled whines that he doesn't even seem fully conscious of. Arvid can all but see his pulse racing in the spot just under his jaw. His eyes lock on Arvid's face and stay there.

"Good boy," Arvid soothes. Usually praise is a one-way ticket to fixing Oskar's bad moods, but this time it just seems to bounce right off him. The tears finally fall, running in clear trails over his cheekbones. Arvid wipes them away with his thumb and Oskar flinches, minutely, never quite pulling away. "It's all right. It's all right. Just a few more seconds..."

He takes the little handle on the tray, murmurs for Oskar to open carefully and slowly, and pulls it out to set it aside and get the next one ready for the bottom teeth. Oskar's trembling never stops, the chair rattling lightly, the pet's fingers dug into the padding until his knuckles are pure white.

Arvid finishes the second tray, and as soon as he removes it and says a soft all done, you were very good, Oskar uncurls, bolts off the chair, and races past the curtain that separates the two halves of Arvid's life. His feet slap on the concrete floor and Arvid watches him go, sighing.

He hears Oskar climb into the bed, the gentle squeak of the springs in the mattress as he buries himself under blankets and probably curls right back up into the little ball likes that. Muffled sobs are just barely audible, and Arvid's teeth itch to go ask him to stop that shit, it's annoying and he has shit to do today, he can't waste his time comforting Oskar's every fear.

But... he caused the fear.

Arvid hesitates, feeling that strange unpleasant twist again.

It's guilt.

He inhales, looking over at the curtain. "Oskar..." He trails off. He should just... go over there and apologize, hold him for a while, let him talk about it or something. It'd be the kind thing to do, and Oskar is the best thing he has in his life these days.

There's a harsh, loud sniff. "Yes?" Oskar's voice is thick and heavy with his tears.

"Listen, I just-" The door to the basement opens and Samael, a woman who seems created entirely in shades of black and slightly less black, steps inside. Arvid swallows the rest of his sentence.

The sounds of Oskar's fear stop - muffled even more thoroughly as he must hear Samael enter, too.

"Am I early?" Sam asks, eyebrows raising. The piercing in one glints in the flat white light of the exam side of the room. "Where's your little creature, isn't he around you all the time these days?"

"He's... busy," Arvid says. "Just give me a second to get the vials ready for you."

"Busy? Doing what?" Sam hops up onto the exam table, even swinging her legs a little. She's maybe five foot three on a good day, but Arvid knows damn well she can snap necks with her thighs alone and is one of the best in the business. "What do pets even do?"

Arvid ignores her. He walks over to peek around the curtain, faintly smiling as he sees the very Oskar-shaped lump on the bed, a hint of his hair showing on the pillow.

"We'll talk about it later," He says, pitching his voice low. "Okay?"

There's a rustle as Oskar shifts around under the blankets he's hidden himself in. He peeks out, just a bit of hair and pale forehead and huge eyes. "Yes, sir," He says, voice weak.

Arvid sighs. Oh, good. He's sir again. Great.

Sometimes, this shit is harder than he thought it would be.

#whump #arvid olsen hates the sun #oskar #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #medical whump #mouth whump #not really but #emotional whump #based around the mouth and bad memories so #arvid is sometimes an asshole

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Sam on the drip.

#whump #whump art #whump animation #pet whump #pet whumpee #facility whump #box boy whump #boxboy whump #boxboy #boxboys #box boy #box boys #box boy universe #boxboy universe #bbu #sam the medic #look at the fancy camera movement #so fancy

[catty-whump-us]

First time posting my whump art, please be kind 🙏

if you guys like this, I might open myself up for whump/box boy art requests!

#whump #box boy #whump art #box boy art #box boy universe #hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort art #digital sketch #whump stuff #box boy whump #pet whump #whump blog #whump community #whumpee #box boy world building #box boy multiverse #collar #dog leash #unhappy boys make me happy #oc artist #artwork #art requests

[pigeonwhumps]

Belt

Bug and Company masterlist

AMOW Winter Whumperland: day 10

Tio de Nadal | Conditioning | Left to Die | Holiday Traditions

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @whumpinggrounds @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

Brett accidentally triggers Charlie.

(Charlie is briefly introduced as 726E here.)

CWs: BBU, pet whump, carewhumper, brief mention of animalisation, dehumanisation, self-dehumanisation, non-sexual partial nudity, forced to participate in punishment, mentions of severe past abuse talked about as punishments, mentions of people being hired out, conditioned whumpee

"Ah! I remember! Of course, that's what I need!"

Brett snaps his fingers in excitement. Of course, how could he have forgotten that? He must've managed to keep Charlie's celebration so secret he forgot about it himself.

He's feeling so pleased with himself that it's a minute before he notices what he's automatically taken. It's Charlie's belt, folded neatly in his outstretched hand.

He hears the rustling of fabric and turns.

It's like it's happening in slow motion. Brett watches, horrified, as Charlie pulls off his t-shirt, drops his trousers, and leans on – no, braces himself against – the wall.

Brett can't move for what feels like hours. Most of his beloved pet's behaviour was conditioned by his previous owners, not the training centre, and he dreads finding out what they did to cause this one.

Then he notices the trembling. That snaps him back into action.

"Charlie," he says cautiously, "What are you... no. No. Tell me your previous owners, The Shelter or whatever they call that building, tell me they didn't beat you with your own belt."

Charlie nods slightly, not enough to dislodge his position, and the fact that he's moving so shallowly tells Brett the pet's knees have locked. He needs to get him sat down before things get worse.

"No. I would never do that. Why don't you pull up your trousers, and then we can sit down? I'll help you stay standing, hang on."

He snakes an arm under Charlie's shoulder, and his pet pulls his trousers up slowly before obediently sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Charlie's eyebrows furrow, and then his eyes widen, and Brett knows he's realised that an important conversation is about to happen. If it wasn't, Brett would've helped him into his own soft bed, now more height-adjustable than normal pet beds to help with his legs.

"We need to have a conversation Charlie, which I think you realise. I know this is partly my fault, because Mandy told me not to snap my fingers at you and I forgot, but do you remember what I told you soon after you arrived and recovered, three months ago now?" Charlie nods. "Can you tell me?"

"That you wouldn't hurt me," croaks out Charlie. "That none of my punishments would be physical, and if any of them were too traumatising, to tell you and you'd change it."

"We'd change it," he corrects quietly. He needs Charlie's input for this. He has so many triggers, and some things he physically can't do. Besides, it's a bit of a reminder. "But that's right. So what made you think I would today?"

"You snapped your fingers, sir. And you're my owner, a person, you can change your mind, that's allowed. I'm only a pet, sir, I'd deserve being beaten or whipped or– or whatever you would do if you so desired, sir."

Brett feels sick. Charlie has so many scars, inside and out, and he's willing to receive more.

"Well, I think it bears reiterating that I will never do anything like that to you. The worst punishments you'll ever receive from me will be things like missing dessert or cleaning up and buying a replacement of things you break. Okay? Nothing severe."

"Yes, sir."

Does he believe it? Who knows. Hopefully he will one day.

There's a long silence, before Brett says, quieter again, "I swear to you, Charlie, I will never let anything like that happen to you again." Charlie bites his lip. "Sweetheart?"

"Even if I'm a very bad dog, sir? You said before but– but you won't treat me like a mutt?"

"No. Certainly not the way your previous owners and clients treated you. And I don't want to know the reason you felt like you had to ask or why you phrased it like that, do I?"

"No, sir."

"Okay. How about I fetch you some water and your favourite treat, and then we continue reading the Charlie Bone books? I imagine curled up next to me isn't the most comforting place right now, but you can always lie on your bed."

"Sir?"

Brett shrugs, slightly embarrassed still after an employee commented that he spoils Charlie even more than Mathonwy. "I always give Mathonwy a treat when he's upset, don't I?"

"Yes, sir."

Charlie knows not to talk back too often, but Brett elaborates anyway. "The planning can wait." After all, ice cream cakes aren't hard to make, apparently. He's more than willing to pay Mandy overtime for her help if necessary. "Can you make it to your bed unassisted?"

"Yes, sir."

Brett smiles and ruffles Charlie's hair. "Go on then. I'll be back in a minute."

And finally, finally, he gets a small quirk of the lips out of his beloved pet.

#whump #whump writing #bug and company #726e oc #brett oc #bbu #box boy universe #box boy whump #box boy #pet whump #disabled whumpee #carewhumper #dehumanisation #conditioned whumpee #touchstarved

[maracujatangerine]

71. Unexpected Gifts

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump, illness

Lydia felt it immediately, as soon as she opened the front door. The absence.

She had unconsciously gotten so used to Coriander always coming to greet her. He seemed to have an almost uncanny ability to know when she was coming home.

His silent footsteps, neat appearance and bashful smile, they were all such a familiar part of her everyday routine that she keenly felt the lack of his presence.

She took off her shoes, coat and scarf and went into the kitchen. After washing her hands she unpacked her groceries, gathered everything she needed and quietly walked upstairs.

The door to Cory’s room stood ajar. Lydia knockad on the door frame and he looked up from his place in the bed. Large, fever-bright eyes, fair hair curling damp with sweat around his face.

“Hi,” She said softly, forestalling his next move with a raised hand, “you don’t have to get up.”

The pet obediently stilled in the bed, just silently looking up at her.

“How are you feeling?”

He swallowed dryly, painfully.

“N-not that good, Miss Lydia.” He admitted. “T-this pet didn’t do a-any chores today, it is sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Cory. I’m glad you stayed in bed today. That was a very good decision.”

“Look, I brought you a smoothie.” Lydia moved to sit on the edge of his bed, placing the drink on the bedside table. She reached out to gently caress his shoulder. “Mrs. Phan came by the shop today. She bought a few more books by Frances Hardinge, and she said that Hoa really enjoyed A face like glass.”

Lydia rummaged around in her cloth bag. “She liked it so much that she wanted to give you a gift.” She pulled out a small, stuffed oriental dragon. “Mrs Phan said that they’d just got a shipment of these and that Hoa had asked if she could be allowed to give one to you. Mrs Phan was a bit worried that you would feel that it was too childish, but I said that you’d probably like it.”

Lydia bit her lip, hesitating. “That is, it is totally all right for you not to like it. We can give it to someone else if you don’t want it.”

The blonde young man in the bed looked at the cloth dragon toy, with its scales in blue, green and silver, long tufted moustache and amber eyes. He slowly shook his head. Looking up at Lydia, his grey eyes were filled with tears.

“T-this pet loves it.” He said quietly. “It… it was very nice of them.”

“It was.” Lydia agreed. She reached out to gently pet his hair. “When you get better, we can go and visit them and you can thank them yourself, okay?”

“Y-yes, Miss Lydia.”

“You should drink your smoothie.” Lydia said. “Would you like to use the electrical blanket for a bit?”

Coriander nodded. “T-that would be nice. T-thank you, Miss Lydia.”

“No problem, it was very nice of Ev to send it to us. It is very handy now, don’t you think?”

*

A while later, Coriander lay in bed. The pet could hear Miss Lydia moving about downstairs, faint music from the radio in the kitchen, some magpies chattering to each other in the trees outside. The gentle warmth from the electrical blanket seeped into the whole of the pet’s body, quieting the pain from sore muscles and aching joints.

The pet knew that this was just a flu. It counted itself very lucky, a few days of discomfort and kind attention from its mistress, and the illness would pass. It didn’t even really believe that Miss Lydia would be angry with it for not being able to work.

Still, there was something with being weak and in pain, however fleeting, that awoke old, bad wounds that never seemed to heal. Nebulous, unnamed fears lurking in the back of its mind. It made it even more grateful for the warmth and weight of the electric blanket.

On an impulse, the pet reached out for the stuffed dragon on the bedside table. Hugging it, Coriander drifted slowly off to sleep.

*

This post is a response to a previous ask from someone who wanted to give Cory a plushie (The ask is here!), and this ask. Thank you both so much for the inspiration! 🌸

(I love getting asks, I’m just really slow in responding to them!)

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

#pet whump #pet whumpee #bbu #sickfic #caretaker #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #box boy whump #conditioned whumpee #recovery whump #rescue whump #box boy #lydia and coriander #original writing

[carldoonan]

A fond farewell to the 3DS eShop. Over a decade of fun little games and goofy little weirdos with a download interface that brimmed with personality. 🛍🐰🎁

#Nintendo 3DS #Nintendo eShop #3DS eShop #Arcade Bunny #Box Boy #Rabbit #Bunny #Whiteboard #Doodle #Fanart #Carl Doonan Art

[isa-ah]

more of Him.

#oc #lucky #box boy #lo calls him lucky i call him box boy he doesn’t have a rl name.. yet

[wyat-ttt]

yeah

#kirby series #kirby #boxboy #box boy #qbby #part time ufo

[dump-o-whump]

Red Market — 1: Pet #27

fun fact!! this situation is my worst fear :) that made this fun to write (/s but it actually was really fun to write djdj)

content: bbu, begging, pet whump, threatened vivisection, stockholm syndrome, immortal/supernaturally healing whumpee

•

Leo was getting a new owner and he didn’t know what to do.

Master had told him the night before. He didn’t want it, though. He didn’t want a new owner with new rules and a new life. All he really wanted was to stay with things as they were with Master. He loved Master, he did, and he didn’t want any other life.

And Master loved him.

Or, at least, he thought Master loved him.

When he first got him, Master was kind. He would stroke his hair and hold his hand and kiss his forehead. He would give him kind, affirming words — “You’re doing so well, pet, I promise” — whenever he had to be punished. He was the best master a pet could ask for. Leo still loved Master so much, he had learnt to from the early days. But now, Master was getting rid of him, and he didn’t know what to do.

Leo heard Master’s footsteps down the hall and immediately perked up, crawling from his ‘sleep corner’ (the name he’d affectionately given to the damp patch of his cell he was forced to sleep in) to the barred doors. “Master!” He called out excitedly. His hands were wrapped around the bars as far as the chains would let him, but he couldn’t fit his head through, so he couldn’t see Master as he walked down.

This was it. He was going to be able to convince Master not to get rid of him. He would tell him how much he loved him, he would beg and plead like a good little pet and Master would cradle his face like he used to and say “It’s alright, love. I won’t take you away.” as he stroked his hair and Leo would finally be happy and Master would finally be happy. And they would all be happy.

He was so relieved he could cry.

“Master! Hello, Master!”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Leo did, slamming his mouth shut immediately and shifting away from the door as Master swung it open. Master was holding a new collar with a tag attached to it. Leo grinned.

“Is that a new collar? For me? Thank you, Master, it means so much! Does this mean—“

“It doesn’t mean I’m not getting rid of you, you fucking vermin. It means your new owner wants you to have a fancy-ass new collar instead of the dirty thing you have now.”

Leo’s hopes were dampened but not destroyed. “I don’t think you should get rid of me,” He said, voice small.

“Too bad I don’t give a shit what you think.” Master said as he approached Leo. He clipped the chain to the new collar before carefully taking off the old one.

Leo stared at it. It was made of tough, black leather with a silver bell. The entire thing was matted with blood and full of cracks. It was disgusting, and Leo was happy to have it off, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

The new collar looked much nicer. It was lined with crushed velvet, with a paper tag that read ‘Pet #27’. Leo lifted his head up as the collar was clipped around his neck, smiling at the absence of the bell’s jingle when he moved.

“Thank you, Master. But… there is something I want to say.”

Master shot him a look of pure, unadulterated hatred, and Leo suddenly felt like something small had died inside of his chest. “And what’s that? Hurry up, I’m busy.”

“I don’t want a new owner. I want to stay here,” He smiled up at his owner hopefully. “With you.”

Master threw his head back and laughed. He leant down, grabbing Leo’s chin roughly, that cruel glint still in his eye. “Listen. You’re a pet — that’s all you are, that’s all you ever will be. You know that.”

Leo nodded enthusiastically.

“Not only that, you’re my pet. You belong to me.”

“Yes, Master.”

“You are my property.”

“Yes, Master.”

“It is my right to do whatever I want to or with you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Ma—“

“Shut up! Let me finish speaking, for fuck’s sake.”

Leo nodded silently, not daring to speak another word.

“Good. Now, listen to me. Use that thing between your ears for thirty seconds to take in what I’m about to say.”

Leo nodded.

“I hate you. I do, I really do. So… I’m gonna sell you off.” Master’s face softened and it suddenly dawned on Leo that he really meant it.

Every time he’d said it, Leo had ignored it, because it was always screamed in a fit of anger. Master was venting his frustration. But he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it.

Please tell me he couldn’t mean it.

“Now, stop your crying and bitching before I slice you open.” Master pulled a pocket knife from his jacket, leering at Leo with it and earning a shocked squeal. He laughed. “I’m gonna miss that sound.”

He swiftly left the room, slamming the door behind him with a huff of laughter. Leo curled into himself and sobbed.

Leo was getting a new owner and he didn’t know what to do.

•

idk man this is poorly written but i haven’t posted in weeks so shut up

taglist: @whumpsday

#whump #whump blog #whump community #whump writing #whumpblr #red market #red market series #whumpy things #immortal whumpee #healing whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #pet whump #bbu #box boy universe #box boy whump #box boy #stockholm syndrome

[whumpster-dumpster]

Thinking about that Adventures of Tintin movie from like a decade ago where he got drugged, stuffed into a crate and shipped on a boat

Tintin: the Original Box Boy

#whump #drugged #box boy #adventures of tintin

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Oh Rafael my precious boy! I will buy him everything he wants and most importantly: make a nest on the sofa, cuddle him all he wants and watch movies with him all day and buy his favourite snacks🥺

He deserves the woooooorld😭

How is he doing these days?🥹❤️

Oh, Raf is fine these days, but remember when he wasn't-

CW: Takes place when Rafael was at his first safehouse. Soooooo much casual slut shaming here, people. So... so much angst.

They go quiet when he comes back, the group of three sitting at the kitchen table. Rafael feels their eyes on him like lit matches on the tips of his fingers and he hunches his shoulders, arms crossed in front of him. His backpack is lighter than when he left, and he wonders if anyone ever pays enough attention to notice.

"Holy cow, I didn't even know he was gone," A former Domestic, Freddie, says with a slightly nervous, airy laugh. Her voice is a whisper that isn't quite quiet enough, but Raf pretends he can't hear it anyway as he slips his shoes off to leave on the little rug by the door.

"That's what they do," Another says - Sam, or Sal, or something else Raf can't quite remember. His voice sounds like he must be rolling his eyes, but Raf refuses to look and see if he is or not. "They sneak around like that, they teach them in training. I saw one getting his feet whipped because he walked too loud once."

"Gross. That-... that sounds awful." Raf blinks, surprised at the hint of sympathy, and glances over to see Freddie shiver.

"Honestly, he probably liked it. They love that stuff, that's why they get picked for it. They're just like that already. I heard they have to talk about their-" Sal lowers his voice, but it still carries. "-their kinks with their handlers when they sign up."

Rafael's face burns as he moves to walk past the doorway. His handler never asked him what he liked or didn't like. His handler had told him outright it didn't matter and the person he was before didn't exist any longer. He, if he wanted to be good, would learn to want what his master or mistress wanted, there was no such thing as having a desire of his own. Did they not know that?

It was warm outside, and he'd been sweaty on the bus in his black sweater and pants with the sun beating down and heating them up, but now he shivers from a chill that lives entirely under his skin.

They know. They don't care. The idea that he wanted it all is easier, and... he must have, right? Or he wouldn't have ended up like this.

"Hey." The third one speaks up, waving to get his attention. "Uh... Romantic. What was your name again?"

Raf pauses, turning to look instinctively, meeting three pairs of flat, hostile eyes in flat, hostile faces. Mr. Martin swears they'll warm up to him, but they never have. Maybe no one ever will. Even Mr. Martin treats him like there's slime on his skin, especially when he said he didn't want to change his name. "It's Rafael. Yeah?"

Vex, that's what the third one calls himself. Raf remembers that, because he'd told Rafael once it was because he hoped him running pissed off the people he'd run from. Rafael had thought he was sharing as a way to break the ice, but then Vex had never spoken to him again. Until now.

Vex's eyes narrow. "Where do you keep going all the time?"

His heart stops, panic sparking like torn wires in his nerves, but Rafael knows how to be terrified and never show it. He only smiles, perfect and pretty, his good-pet-grin. "The library. I'm trying to learn how to read again."

His voice comes out smoothly sincere. He's a good liar. All Romantics are incredible liars. That's what everyone says, anyway. And Raf is pretty good at it.

"Huh." Vex shares a look with the others that Raf can't quite read, and his prickling unease keeps rising. "You never come to our group lessons, though."

Rafael has an answer prepped for this. He shrugs, unbothered. "You said it wasn't comfortable for you when I did."

Vex frowns, thoughtful, some of his prickling hostility fading. To Rafael's shock, he looks... almost guilty. "... Oh. Yeah. I forgot we told Mr. Martin that."

"You kept sitting with your legs open," Freddie says, voice slightly uneven. "And... sitting too close."

"... I know. Again, i'm-... sorry, I am, I didn't even know-... No one told me until Mr. Martin said you told him-"

"Whatever." Vex snorts. "Let's talk about the library. You're spending, like, hours over there."

"Well... It's not just learning to read." His heart isn't pounding in his throat at all, he can't feel his fingers trembling until he hides them in his pockets. He doesn't even flush when he realizes in a spike of shame that there's an empty condom package still in there. He forgot to throw it away before he got back. It crinkles and he has to fight not to widen his eyes. The sound feels impossibly loud.

It must not carry. None of them seem to notice.

Freddie nudges Sal with her elbow. "Told you so. He's fucking somebody."

Sal sighs. "I didn't argue with you, Fred."

Vex's eyebrow raises. "That's against the rules. Mr. Martin says no inappropriate relations inside or outside the house. Especially sex ones. You'll get kicked out for that."

"I'm not sleeping with anyone," Rafael lies without even batting an eyelash. "You can have Mr. Martin check my phone, I'm at the library the whole time."

The phone is, anyway. He leaves it there, most of the time, in a hiding spot inside a conference room nobody ever uses, before he meets one of the other Romantics who work on the street and goes back to the apartment and the warmth of their arms and the familiar slick slide of their bodies against his. Sometimes he has money to pay, sometimes he doesn't, but they open the door even when he has nothing but his body to offer.

Sometimes they just hold him, and it's enough to make him feel human again, for a while, anyway.

Vex looks at him, then away. "Whatever. As long as you're a creep somewhere else, who cares what you do?"

Raf swallows. His throat feels too small for the air he has to breathe. "You can ask Mr. Martin-" He starts again, catches his voice wobbling and fights hard to keep it steady, falsely confident.

"I'm not a snitch," Vex interrupts, snapping the words angrily. Raf catches himself backing up instinctively to avoid anyone who might be angry getting close enough to hurt him for it. "None of us are. We aren't Romantics like you."

"Yeah, we're not the ones who go tell the owners whatever gets them more dick and called a good boy," Sal sneers. Freddie just looks worried and a little scared of them all. Raf's face burns bright red.

"I-... I don't-"

He does, though. Sort of. Rei, his second-favorite of the others he finds on the streets who understand him, calls him that at the end. Raf likes it and Rei likes to play good and gentle owner with happy pet, using a soft voice that warms Raf inside and out with the idea of anyone ever saying it without the edge of humiliation or danger his own master and mistress held.

Sometimes just hearing it so sweet like that can have him coming in a flash or crying and the feeling is almost the same.

"It's-" Raf's voice finally cracks, and he clears his throat. He can't look them in the eyes any longer. "It's against the rules to use unkind language to each, each other-"

"It sure is." Sal snorts, derisive. Disgusted with him. "Gonna go tell Mr. Martin we were mean, Romantic?"

"My name is Raf-"

"We don't care. Look, you tell Mr. Martin we were big meanie-faces and hurt your delicate little slut feelings, then maybe we tell Mr. Martin that you're definitely not spending all that time just learning to read."

Rafael's heart beats so fast he feels like he's trying to outrun his own body. "No, I, I am-"

"We just said we don't care. Just... go somewhere else." Vex waves his hand, and Rafael turns on his heel and tries not to move like the beaten animal he is as he goes back to the room he stays in, alone, where he lays awake all night in a bed where there is no one to hold him.

How they talk to him would hurt less if it wasn't true.

He is sneaking off to find sex, the comfort he isn't allowed to have, the only touch anyone ever gives him. He does sit too close, and not know how to stand or sit in ways that aren't a wordless invitation. He does lie, over and over and over again.

He breaks all the rules and he can't seem to stop.

But... it's only because he's so lonely he could scream until his throat bleeds if he has to live where no one will touch him.

Rafael throws his backpack across the room, slamming his door so hard the frame rattles and hearing Mr. Martin's muffled no slammed doors, please! from somewhere else within the house.

Another broken rule.

Rafael collapses onto his bed, curling up on his side, pulling out the plastic feather he carries everywhere he goes. Rubbing his fingers over the texture helps remind him - the guy who gave him the feather thought he could do this. Believed in him.

Had said, somebody loved you, and really, really meant it.

Even if someone had, Raf thinks, they probably couldn't love him now. Not this version of him, anyway. And the guy, who had been gorgeous and had been one like him, definitely... He didn't really know Raf at all. No one does.

But everyone here thinks they don't need to talk to him at all to already know everything they needed to in order to judge him as worthless.

Their judgments would feel less like damnation if he didn't think so, too.

He'd only ever been worth what his body could do for the ones who put the collar around his neck. That hasn't changed at all. He just has no collar and no one to care for him now. No one who cares about him. His handler was right. He's only ever going to be wanted for one thing.

If it weren't for the feather and the memory of the man in the museum believing he deserves to be free, he'd walk outside right now and turn himself in.

Go back to his master and mistress, to a home that isn't home but at least there they cared enough to touch him.

At least there he had been lonely without being alone.

#rafael is no one's saint #whump #bbu #box boy universe #writing #box boy #referenced dubcon #referenced noncon #runaway whumpee #ANGST

[boxboysandotherwhump]

This is a still from Sam’s drip animation. So you guys can see it in full :3

#whump #whump art #pet whump #boxboy #boxboys #box boy #box boys #box boy universe #boxboy whump #box boy whump #pet whumpee #art #whumpee #bbu #boxboy universe #sam the medic

[whumpinggrounds]

Valuables

CW: BBU general warning, fire, difficulty breathing, smoke inhalation, male whumpee, pet whump, female whumper kinda

“Oh god. Oh, my god. The house – the house – our house!” Mistress Caroline is wailing, wailing like Barnaby has never heard her wail. “Vernon, Vernon, can’t they hurry? Won’t they hurry? I don’t understand where they are-”

Buoying up his distraught wife with an arm under her armpits, Master Vernon stares at the towering pile of smoke with an expression that’s attempting stoicism. “Come on now, Caroline. Deep breaths, darling.” He jostles her, and she shrieks again. Barnaby could’ve told him that wouldn’t work. “The fire department will be here in moments, it’ll…it’ll all be all right.”

“It won’t be all right!” Mistress Caroline’s hands come up to clutch at her throat. “Our home – our beautiful home – our beautiful things, all of our things-”

“They’re just things, dear, we can replace-”

“Oh, you.” There’s real venom in Mistress Caroline’s voice as she rounds on her husband. She’s raising her hand to beat on his chest, the way she does when she’s truly furious, but before she can, her gaze catches on something behind her husband.

Her gaze catches on her loyal servant, Barnaby.

Never has Barnaby longed more fiercely for Pierce, the older Box Boy, a grave and gray-haired expert who outgrew the title boy more than thirty years ago. Pierce would understand the desperate light in Mistress Caroline’s eyes. Pierce would know how to soothe her, settle her, make her see reason.

Barnaby just steps forward, head bowed. “Ma’am?”

“Barnaby, I need you to go into the house for my jewelry box, understand? You know the one, the painted china with the mirrored lid-”

“Caroline.” Now it’s Master Vernon’s turn to be sharp with irritation. “The boy is brand new. He is worth much more than whatever’s in that jewelry box-”

Now Mistress Caroline does slap him. One quick blow across the mouth, more to shock him than to harm. “Have a heart!” There’s true misery in her voice. “Some of those pieces belonged to my grandmother – my great-grandmother! I have to…I have to at least try…”

Faced by his wife dissolving into tears, Master Vernon softens, even with his cheek pink from where she slapped him. “Oh, honey, the fire isn’t even near our bedroom,” he tries, but Mistress Caroline won’t be soothed now. She’s nearly hysterical. Once again, her eyes fix on Barnaby.

“Go,” she urges, flapping a hand at him. “I said go!”

For one endless moment, Barnaby waits for Master Vernon to intervene, but his master doesn’t look at him. His arms are encircling his weeping wife. He’s picking his battles, and he isn’t picking Barnaby.

Taking a deep breath of air already tinged by smoke, the Box Boy turns toward the house.

Opening the door, he’s met with a wall of smoke, black and thick and choking. Even as he coughs, Barnaby plunges into the house, obedient until the end. From the rear of the house, the kitchen spits off heat and light and hideous smoke, smoke that burns his eyes and sears his throat. Taking even a few steps froward is agony. Bent almost double, Barnaby creeps forward, one hand fumbling ahead of him, the other rubbing uselessly at his eyes.

His reaching hand finds the banister. The thought of going up, of entering into the suffocating blanket of ash, makes Barnaby’s legs weak. Around him, the wood of the house screams under the assault of flames and heat, and Barnaby whines with it.

He doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to.

He must.

One foot, and then the other, Barnaby climbs the stairs. By the end, he’s almost crawling, rasping in air as best he can, staying as close to the floor as possible.

Just a few more steps. A few more steps to the bedroom, and then within it, Mistress Caroline’s bureau. The jewelry box is on it. Barnaby can picture it, cool white china and painted flowers. Once he has it in his hands. Then he can leave this hell.

Are his eyes full of grit, or is the hallway carpet blurring beneath his fingers? Barnaby can’t tell. His eyes are in agony, his throat, his lungs. He coughs but no sound comes out, he tries to breathe but there’s no air. The radiant heat on his skin and the blisters it raises don’t register. Barnaby is cooking from the inside out.

Still, nonsensically, he drags himself forward. Over the heavy hall carpet, over the threshold of the room that Master Vernon and Mistress Caroline share. There’s a window open, and smoke billows out into the sky, pours out into the sky, utterly overwhelms any glimpse he might catch of the sky.

There’s fresher air near the floor. Barnaby drinks it in greedily, hacking as he does. On hands and knees, vision fading, he creeps toward the bureau.

When the firefighters find him, he’s unconscious at the base of the dresser, curled in the fetal position. They reach down to move him, and the jewelry box spills from his insensible hands.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday11 #difficulty breathing #barnaby bb #bbu #wru #pet whump #box boy #fire #smoke inhalation #male whumpee #female whumper #ish

[pigeonwhumps]

In-BBU media

BBU Community Days: Day 10

@bbu-on-the-side

I have been looking forward to this prompt since Sara announced it! This is, predictably, the first of several posts today.

A pet lib magazine article featuring an interview with Anita, Theo and Lea. Transcript is below the cut.

Edit: Agh forgot the taglist. I think half of you at least have seen it already so apologies for this but anyway: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @flowersarefreetherapy @painful-pooch

CWs: BBU, pet whump, PTSD, amnesia, implications of BBU, rape, dehumanisation, torture, conditioned whumpees, ableism. Nothing graphic

Feature interview

The Life of a Pet

Hugo and Mia, two so-called pets, talk to us briefly about their lives, both while currently being looked after by Sandip, and while under contract with WRU. All names are pseudonyms for protection. This article contains descriptions of legal torture, rape, conditioning, and dehumanisation.

Hugo and Mia kneel in front of the sofa where Sandip sits, feet crossed under herself. We’ve both tried multiple times to get them to sit on the sofa with Sandip, but neither will. Sandip confided in me that she believes they were trained not to sit on furniture, “like some people train their animals”.

Hugo has been with Sandip for seven years, and with his previous owners for seven years before that. Mia, meanwhile, has been with Sandip for only five years, and eight with her previous owners, with a period of retraining in between. They have both been in the pet system for fifteen years, originally trained as a combined Domestic/Platonic bonded pair, although Mia was later retrained as a Romantic before ending up with Sandip. As you possibly know, there are multiple companies that deal with the business of buying, selling and training pets, but both Hugo and Mia were traded by WRU, the UK’s largest pet trading company, not to mention one of the country’s largest employers overall — that is, if you call pets employees and not what they really are: slaves.

The interview was clearly very distressing for our interviewees, and although we offered to stop at multiple points, all three declined. A brave trait when dealing with a subject of this nature, and even I, with little direct experience of the WRU's worst features, felt ill at times.

WRU wipes the memories of everyone they turn into pets, to prevent them from remembering their families or even realising they're people who can have a life outside of slavery. Hugo no longer remembers his family, or what his life was like before becoming a pet. This creates a system ripe for abuse, where victims can receive no recourse – there are numerous accusations of people being turned into pets against their will, something they’re unlikely to remember. The Drip, as the memory-wipe technology is colloquially known, would serve as a handy tool to wipe witnesses’ minds of the criminal’s activities, or for an abuser to get rid of their victim, to name but two horrific uses that are not, and never have been, well legislated against.

Mia’s memory has been wiped twice, and although some may see this as an indication that her story is untrustworthy, we at Liberation believe it demonstrates the sheer cruelty of WRU workers, to wipe her loved ones from her mind not once but twice. She has photos now, which she shows me proudly – her and her family, her friends, new and old, some she’s found more than once – photos that look like they could be from any normal holiday or day trip, if you ignore the shadows in the former pets’ eyes, or the collar around Hugo’s neck that he wears for the feeling of security it apparently provides.

Hugo doesn’t remember being recruited, although there are photos and articles describing his recruitment during the WRU’s first disability inclusion drive, proving that his involvement, at least, started out as voluntary. But it didn’t stay that way. It turned into fear, and brutal punishment, at the hands of people who didn’t seem to care about his well-being, beyond his usefulness. After his memory was wiped too, of course.

“The first thing I remember is having my barcode tattooed. It was scary. I wasn’t alone for long, but I was alone for that. The training was harsh, I remember that. The handlers had electrified black batons and shock collars to punish us with, among other tools. No scarring. And then once Mia came along, they punished both of us if one of us messed up, because we were bonded. So even though sometimes it didn’t seem important what happened to me, I didn’t want to get Mia hurt."

Mia nods in agreement. “I– I don’t remember my first training exactly, but I– but I remember the feeling of– of not wanting Hugo to get– to get hurt. He was all I– all I had.”

The WRU, if we were to ask, would not even be able to pretend that Mia’s acquisition was voluntary. Between Sandip, Mia, and Mia’s former partner Olu, they’ve put the pieces of her acquisition together — and it isn’t pretty.

“We– we think I was taken on the– on the way home from orchestra practice,” says Mia quietly. “My Romantic handler used to– used to boast about using– using me first. I think– I think he kidnapped me. And then– and then raped me, before my– my memory was wiped. Hugo says I– I defended him from– from a different handler, before we officially met, but I don’t– I don’t remember that.”

And therein lies the problem: Drip-induced amnesia. Although involuntary acquisitions and rape of non-Romantic pets are illegal, without the pet’s memory, who will be there as witness to prosecute? Even if the pet remembers, their legal status is such that they simply can't prosecute for themself.

“It’s not always too bad,” says Hugo. “Our first primary handler, he was fairer. Didn’t give us punishments if we behaved. But he was still scary. He still hurt Mia, just because she was a pet. Mistress tries to help, but we haven’t had control over our lives for fifteen years.”

We couldn’t contact the initial handler for comment, who seems to have disappeared since blowing the whistle on some of WRU’s worst practices (see previous edition for details), but fear’s rampant within those in the community trying to do their best for pets within the confines of such an unjust system. Sandip is one of them, and has already been arrested for her actions.

“Twice. We’ve been arrested twice. Hugo was almost sent to a retraining centre for fighting back after the police caught him unawares while trying to protect me, and nearly killed him through anaphylactic shock. They’ve hated us ever since, and last year I was arrested for suspected terrorism via pet lib offences. I was raped and assaulted by a WRU handler in police custody, and subjected to strip and intimate searches by cops.” Sandip takes a shaky breath and scratches Hugo’s scalp, which seems to calm them both. “They wanted to scare me into confessing to crimes. And poor Hugo was an easy target the first time.”

Pet-related miscarriages of justice are a situation many of us are familiar with after adespeaks’s viral speech on his YouTube channel last month spurred an ongoing deluge of accusations, although an analysis is too long for this interview — see page 7 for details. For now, we will continue with Hugo and Mia’s story. We pick up as they get sent to a new home, fully trained and ready to be an influencer couple’s pets.

“You know boxies are transported in crates, but you maybe don’t realise how rough the couriers are. My box was left upside down on my new owners’ doorstep. I was there for hours while they sorted out cameras, and I couldn’t hear anything obviously, or see anything, I didn’t know where Mia was at all. Anything could’ve happened to her.”

“It wasn’t too bad with our first owners, just a little exposed and humiliating, I suppose, not until the divorce. Mia doesn’t remember it. We were split up, and I ended up with Master. He didn’t want me, they only bought me to look good anyway, because I’m profoundly deaf and they’d get sympathy and virtue points, that’s what he said, and he wasn’t kind or safe at all. I should’ve been safe wearing a collar but I wasn’t. He just hurt and starved me until he got rid of me. He used whips and belts and left me outside to freeze. He made me into an ashtray, and used me as a punching bag, and forgot to feed me and give me water constantly. The scar on my cheek is from him, but earlier. Once, Mia had to wear a tightly-laced corset because she was coughing too much, and she passed out. That was earlier too.” He pauses, seemingly thinking hard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give so much detail, it’s supposed to be confidential. I was so scared. He could’ve killed me.”

“I was horrified by all the scars,” interjects Sundip. Hugo nods. It seems that despite the propaganda, becoming a pet doesn’t guarantee you a safe and loving home. Not even during transportation, where you’d expect them to want them to arrive wholly intact at least, are they treated with a modicum of decency.

Mia squeezes Hugo’s hand tightly, looking a little ill, her face pinched as if holding back a headache. “And– and I shouldn’t remember the– the second trip, back to the training centre, but I– but I do now. I– I don’t know why, the therapist says– says my remembering was triggered by trauma. I was– I was thrown around inside my box, and– and not upright, and people were– were screaming, and I– I was raped. Again. And I– I tried to escape, along with another– another pet, but they just– just caught and– and punished me and– and wiped my memory. I didn’t– didn’t remember him until– until recently, let alone know what– what happened to him. Or– or me. It still hurts my head to– to think about.”

It’s a harrowing story, and we have to pause there for Mia to compose herself. Sandip rubs her back soothingly.

“I was caring for Hugo by this point. He came to me by accident, but I wasn't leaving him. We were looking for Mia, Hugo missed her, and when she came up as refurbished on the WRU website we had to buy her. It’s been a tricky few years, I didn't do as well as I should have early on and we discovered an illegal hysterectomy was performed on Mia by WRU surgeons (see page 12 for a full exposé on this horrifyingly widespread practice), but it's been getting better. Mia and Hugo are doing so well.”

Mia and Hugo are a bonded pair, and it’s well-known that splitting up bonded pairs can cause lasting mental damage. Luckily, in their case it doesn’t seem to have been too bad, in large part due to the determination of the ex-pets and those who care for them. And a part of that lies too in Mia’s retraining, or ‘refurbishment’, as WRU calls it, eight years after her original sale.

I ask Mia if she can tell me any more about her training as a Romantic, and she nods, head in Hugo’s lap now.

"My– my handler raped me every day. Sometimes– sometimes multiple times a day, especially– especially early on. He also– also used sensory deprivation to make– to make me more affectionate. I’m not– I’m not sure what’s originally me and what’s– what’s training anymore. His sister raped– raped me too, when he took me home for– home for Christmas. For the– the situational trials as part of– of training. And then I– I wanted to have sex with– with Sandip so she’d– she’d want me. I wasn't– wasn't wanted if I wasn't useful. But it wasn't– wasn't true. It wasn't true. It wasn't true."

Mia repeats that to herself as Hugo pulls her into a tight hug, Sandip’s hand on her shoulder.

Both Mia and Hugo have been through hell together, and although they're getting through it with the help of Sandip and other friends, family and local organisations, gaining independence and discovering who they are, there are thousands out there still suffering, who need our help. These two show that although a recovery isn’t easy, it can be possible, with the right care.

And as for our trio here, any last words and hopes?

“I'd like to go a night without a nightmare,” says Hugo. “Just once.”

“Animals are treated better in law than human pets. And until that changes, any so-called improvements will be nothing but a smokescreen. But they give hope, and sometimes, hope is what’s needed most.”

“I– I never want to lose Hugo or Olu again. No– no part of them. Never again. No-one should– should have to lose someone they love like– like that. And you can– you can help, you don’t have to– have to participate in a system that hurts people, please. No matter your– your past, or who– who you are. You can– you can still help.”

#bbucommunity #day10 #sanctuary pigeonwhumps #anita oc #theo oc #785 oc #whump #whump writing #whump art #whump design #whumpee and caretaker #bbu #pet whump #box boy universe #box boy #box babe #multiple whumpees #lol its just gone midnight #you can tell ive been looking forward to this #man theo is so much more confident here than early on #and obv they edited the interview a bit but still #is it normal to be proud of your own ocs? #eh dont care i am anyway

[catty-whump-us]

A moment of appreciation for the many renditions of Joe Goldberg's infamous cage; or as I like to think of it, the Glass Box.

#netflix you #joe goldberg #whump #whump community #box boy #bbu #box boy multiverse #box boy whump #whumper #whump tropes #caretaker #psychological whump #violent whumpee #violent whumper #romantic whump

[maracujatangerine]

29. Lost Property

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

Previous - Next

“So, here we are.” Linden opened the door with a flourish. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he told Lydia, “please make yourselves at home.”

“Thank you,” Lydia smiled, “it is so kind of you to take us in like this.” She removed her coat and shoes, and Cory did the same. Linden was helping Col unzip his jacket and then he reached up and took off Colton’s collar.

Both Coriander and Lydia flinched - Cory fearfully anticipating the horrific punishment that this seemingly mild-mannered man surely was about to dole out, Lydia waiting for the flood of begging and pleading that poor Col was sure to deliver.

But nothing happened.

Col just stood there, awkward as usual, as if Linden removing his jacket and removing his collar were the same things. If anything, he looked slightly more relaxed.

Lydia and Coriander exchanged an astonished glance. Cory raising a protective hand to his own collar - before realising what he was doing and forcing himself to let his hand fall to his side.

“Don’t worry,” Lydia mumbled, “you can keep it for as long as you want.” She reached up to gently rub the very tense spot between Cory’s shoulder blades, just at the nape of his neck. Slowly, she felt him relax, letting his shoulders fall down again. “That’s it,” she said, “you are doing good.”

Turning, she noticed that now Col and Linden were watching them. Col impassively, with no hint of what he thought, Linden with consternation in his eyes. They could almost have looked intimidating, to a stranger- the broad, scarred man and his serious, dark-eyed companion.

“We’re fine.” She said, “Cory got a bit startled, that’s all.“

“Oh,” Linden said, “okay.” He smiled, slightly nervously. “Well, Cory, you know this place by now. Why don’t you show Lydia around for a bit? Perhaps you can introduce her to Jaffa?”

“Yes, Sir.” It was Cory’s turn to surprise Lydia. He smiled at Linden and it was a true smile, open, relaxed and reaching his eyes, not just the well-rehearsed performance of an obedient pet. “Miss Lydia, if you’d please come this way…” He led the way further into the house.

*

”Are you really all right, Col?”

Col looked down, away from his owner’s searching gaze, and nodded. A faint blush over his cheeks.

“I-I am all right, Sir.”

“It’s just me and you now. If Lydia did anything, please tell me. You won’t be in any trouble.”

Col’s eyes moved slowly along the floor while he wrung his hands. He shook his head mutely, with a sidelong glance at Linden. He was hiding his hands as usual, but Linden had become so accustomed to it that he didn’t take it as an indicator of new anxieties.

“She… she was kind to me, Sir. Very kind. I hope that’s okay.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Kindness is for my Master to bestow…”

“Hey, I know that’s just what you were taught to say. You deserve all the kindness in the world, from anyone. I’m just so happy that Lydia was good to you, and kept you safe. She’s probably very relieved that I was nice to Coriander, too.”

Col nodded earnestly. “She cares about Coriander a lot, Sir. She was very excited to see him.”

Linden smiled lovingly. “That’s great. What a strange few days, huh? Come on, let’s go and make them feel welcome.”.

*

Lydia laughed out-loud, a warm, cheerful sound. When Linden entered the room, she and Cory were both kneeling on the rug. Jaffa stretched out on her back between them, a grey paw trying to catch the rainbow coloured tuft at the end of the wand that Cory was waving in the air.

“Your cat is adorable.” Lydia looked up at him with glittering eyes.

“She is pretty cute, isn’t she?”

Lydia gave Jaffa another tickle, and got to her feet.

“Did I hear you say something about dinner?” she asked. “Would you like some help?”

“Um..” Linden hesitated, then smiled. “Sure, that would be great, thanks!”

Cory put away the toy in its place in the cupboard, getting a disappointed tail flick from Jaffa in the process. The blonde young man bent down to give her one last pat. When he was ready, Linden led the way to the kitchen.

“Cory told me that the two of you often eat vegetarian food. I was thinking that we could have some mushroom cannelloni and a salad, what do you think?”

“That sounds amazing!” Lydia grinned, washing her hands. “We are pretty good at taking instruction, just let us know what needs to be done.”

“Hmm, it’ll be great to have you as my minion- I mean sous-chef.” Linden made a show of wiggling his eyebrows at her, and looked slightly surprised when Lydia laughed. “And Vik always tells me how my jokes aren’t funny.” He mumbled to himself.

To Lydia, he said. “Col usually lays the table, perhaps the two of you could help me chop some ingredients?”

Col set the table slowly and meticulously, carefully picking up only one thing at a time as if it was infinitely precious. Bit by bit, he placed one tumbler, one plate, one fork, and one knife in each place. When Linden quietly informed him that Coriander preferred to sit on the floor, Colton equally painstakingly moved one of each object to a tray and put it next to a pillow on the floor.

Watching Col made Lydia’s heart hurt. Especially since Cory at the moment finished chopping onions, poured them into a bowl and continued to finely slice garlic. His every movement was made with seemingly effortless quicksilver grace.

At the same time, she thought, Colton’s plate and glass lay next to Linden’s on the table, while Cory’s, by his own choice, were at their feet. They were both marked by their experiences, in their separate ways.

A little while later, the cannelloni were in the oven, the salad prepared, the table laid. Lydia sat down, but then turned to Coriander.

“Would you maybe like to play for us while we are waiting for the food?” She smiled. “Your tin whistle was in your bag, so I have it here. You don’t have to, though, it’s only if you feel like it.”

The blonde pet nodded and rose smoothly from his place on the pillow.

“Yes, Miss Lydia, t-this pet would be h-honoured to play.”

He took the tin whistle from her and went to one side of the table. Coriander stood motionless for a moment before raising the whistle to his lips with practised ease. The quick, crystal clear tones of a jig came tumbling like drops of water in a cascade. Grey eyes glittering, he swayed, almost danced, to the music. Lydia joined in, clapping her hands in tune. It was clear that this was something they’d done many times before. “Come on,” she grinned to Linden and Col, “dancing in the kitchen is good for the appetite.”

Linden stared at her for another half-second, taking her in. Now that her anxieties about Cory had been calmed, she was a lot more lively, and cheerful, than Linden had expected. He realised he had better loosen up a bit more to match. “Alright. Col, do you want to dance?”

Col looked startled. “Uh, I, I-”

“Here,” Linden thought quickly. Dancing seemed a bit advanced for someone still learning to stand up. And Linden didn’t want him to accidentally hurt his hands by clapping them over and over. Instead, he picked up a fork and a glass, and put them on the table in front of Col. “Why don’t you do a bit of percussion?”

Col’s face lit up. This was something he could definitely do. Linden turned back to Lydia and the two of them sprung up, stomping their feet and circling each other, giving Cory’s merry tune the energy it deserved.

Cory continued to play, and Col kept time, his fork-and-glass instrument producing a sweet tink with every hit.

After a few jigs, Cory switched to a slower, more contemplative tune. Lydia, slightly out of breath, sat down to listen, leaning her chin in her hand. Linden stayed standing, leaning on his chair.

The last few songs were sweetly sad and beautiful. Linden could not help but to wonder if the weeping tin whistle gave voice to emotions that polite, smiling Coriander himself could not talk about.

The mushroom cannelloni were delicious, creamy and flavourful and perfectly complemented by the crispy salad. For a while, the only sounds in the kitchen was the scraping of cutlery as everyone enjoyed the food.

Linden’s eyes slid idly across to Col, finally seeing his hands up close, not half-hidden or constantly moving. The knuckles on his hand were bruised, and badly so.

“Oh, what happened to you, sweet?” Linden instinctively reached out, placing his hand on Col’s wrist.

The pet froze, dropping the piece of bread he had reached out for. The scarred young man held his breath, not daring to move even an inch. His hand lay motionless on the table, as if his Master’s touch had chopped it off at the wrist.

“I’m sorry.” Linden, realising his mistake, pulled back his hand. “You’re not in trouble, Col.” When the pet continued to sit completely motionless, Linden gently took Colton’s large, limp hand in his own, turning it to and fro to see the extent of the damage. “Does this hurt, sweet? Whatever happened to you?”

Colton stared down, his face expressionless, but panic shining in his eyes.

“It was my fault.” Lydia interjected smoothly, just as Col was opening his mouth to reply. “He had a little bit of an accident at the conference, and…”

“What kind of an accident? Why didn’t you tell me?” From the corner of her eye, Lydia could see Cory straighten up at the tension in Linden’s voice. Like Col, Coriander kept his feelings hidden behind a neutral facial expression, but his eyes wandered nervously from face to face around the table.

“It was not a big deal, he was helping me with some equipment and…”

“No, please, it wasn’t Miss Lydia’s fault!” Colton’s voice, too loud and sharp-edged with fear, cut across Lydia’s words. He turned to Linden and his hand on the table began to shake. “Sir, I… I… I hit a man… a person. And I didn’t tell you. I’m so s-sorry, Sir, and I don’t deserve this food, or to- to be here with you. I’m- I’m a bad pet, and, please, please punish me!”

He jerked away, falling to the ground, a boneless heap kneeling before Linden. “I- I should be put down, I know. P-please, Master, please, I know I don’t deserve it, b-but please show me mercy, I’m so sorry, please p-p-punish your awful, bad, worthless pet.”

Linden just gaped for a moment as the man at his feet deteriorated in incoherent sobbing. “Please, Master, Please!”

“Col, whoa, whoa, I’m not angry.” He hunched down and tried to keep his voice level. “I’m just trying to understand, what happened? You hit someone?”

Lydia, having the distinct advantage of actually having been there, decided that the cat now was out of the bag for good.

“Cory,” she said, “take your food and go to the living room. Let’s give these two some space, shall we?” The blonde pet snapped to it, and in the time it took Lydia to turn around and take the folded blanket that happened to be on the chair behind her, he was gone.

“Linden” she said, and when he looked up at her she stretched over the table and handed him the blanket, “I will tell you everything you want to know when Col has calmed down a bit. But you should know that he is the hero in this story. And he is truly alright.” With that, she took her own plate and left the room after her own pet.

Moving his chair aside, Linden sat down on the floor next to Col. With slow, gentle movements, he unfolded the blanket and laid it across Col’s shoulders. Colton was violently shivering, crying without words, just a wounded animal-like keening that he unsuccessfully struggled to keep back. His hands weren’t hidden, for once. They were pressed into his face as he sobbed.

“There, there.” Linden said. “I’m not angry with you. It is alright to cry, it’s always alright. There’s no rush, okay sweet?” He carefully laid a light hand on Col’s back, and when the crying man gave no reaction, he started to rub his back soothingly.

*

In the living room, Cory knelt on a pillow, he wrung his hand with tears in his eyes. As Lydia sat down in the chair next to him, he blurted out.

“Miss Lydia, w-what happened w-with Colton? D-did he really hit someone?”

“Eat your food before it gets cold.” Lydia said, waiting for him to obey before she continued. “We had a bit of a mishap during the trip. Someone - a strange man - threatened us. Col hit him to protect me.” Cory let out a terrified gasp. “Don’t you worry.” Lydia said calmly. “He didn’t hurt him badly, I am fine, Colton is fine.”

“T-this pet was… was not there to help you.” Cory sounded absolutely crushed. That was probably a good thing, too. Lydia thought. Col’s menacing appearance had probably had a more effective impact on their assailant.

“It wasn’t your fault, love.” She said instead. “It was just a bit of bad luck.”

She took a deliberate bite of her food, watching Cory remember his order and doing the same.

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

#lost property #lydia and linden #lydia and coriander #pet whump #linden and colton #caretaker #rescue whump #recovery whump #pet whumpee #whump fic #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #box boy multiverse #box boy whump #original writing